Cooking with Luna
by LiquidThoughts
Summary: If Harry was certain of one thing, it was this: Luna was not a chef. [TWO PART SHORT STORY] [HARRY/LUNA] [FLUFF/HUMOR] [Rated T for safety]
1. Part 1

**A/N:**

Hi, peeps. I've been in the mood to write some Harry/Luna one-shot and I've had this plot bunny stirring in my mind for quite some time now. Was going to originally post this as a complete one-shot but school/work has gotten in the way and I'm not sure when I will be able to do that (plus, still working out some kinks with the story). So, I decided to divide it into two parts and see if you guys like where it's going. I'm not going to spoil much about part 2, but let's just say that wine is involved and the cookbook that Luna borrowed from Mrs. Weasley has... well, some interesting instructions. :]

Anyway, part 2 will be coming regardless of reviews or favorites but reviews are certainly motivational for this girl! Hope you guys enjoy part 1.

**Disclaimer: **_I own nothing at all except my computer._

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**Cooking With Luna: Part 1**

If Harry was certain of one thing, it was this:

Luna was _not_ a chef.

Beautiful? Definitely. Funny? Absolutely. Good with a wand? Wouldn't want to get on her bad side. Terribly intellectual about the strangest things to the point of possible insanity? You got it. The woman had creativity practically oozing of those apple danish earrings, for Merlin's sake. She even beat him outright in an enchanted chess match once, though he swears backwards and forwards that she was doing some kind of occlumency on him, seeing as she managed to properly prepare for every move without thinking about it on her _very first try._ No, Luna was plenty capable in dubious areas of life. Her cooking skills, however, made themselves known when she managed to set hotdogs on fire because she had put them inside the toaster to make them cook faster (he never should've enchanted that damn toaster). Not to mention the time she attempted to make him one of his favorite muggle meals, Spaghetti and Meatballs, and somehow disintegrated the raw noodles before they had a chance to make it to the boiling water. He didn't bother to ask her what she did to what she claimed to be the meatballs. Instead, he had just sighed, rubbed his eyes under his glasses and laughed to himself before taking her out to dinner. It was easily understood: Luna and cooking simply did not go together.

So, when Luna began telling him at breakfast about how Mrs. Weasley gave her a new cookbook with a recipe that she was interested in making for supper tonight, it was difficult to suspend his apprehension.

"What is it called again?" He asked her with a raised eyebrow, cutting into his pile of waffles and pork links while she examined the tangerine in her hand, sitting cross-legged in her chair.

"'Rosemary Pork-Butt Roast'" She quoted dreamily. "Although, If I were a cow, I think I'd feel rather violated about someone trying to eat my backside..."

Harry snorted into his orange juice. "You mean a pig?"

"Don't be so insensitive, Harry," said Luna, who was now peeling her tangerine with the most extreme carefulness, as if she were cutting the wire to a bomb. "You don't know how many cows out there may feel insecure about their weight."

"I don't think they much care about how much they weigh when we're eating them..." He joked, watching as Luna finished undressing her fruit and was now sectioning them off into sets of two on her plate, and seemed far too distracted to respond to his quip.

"What are you _doing_?" He asked, eyebrows raised.

"Eating them in pairs, of course. I wouldn't want them to get lonely in my stomach," she answered, speaking with a tone that gently implied this should've been obvious to Harry. "They might get lost. It's much easier to travel with a friend, I think."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but ended up closing it, smiling at her as she rolled out a pair of chopsticks from inside a tea towel. They locked gazes briefly, Luna sending him a lop-sided grin before they resumed their breakfast, her with her chopsticks and coupled fruit and him with his fork and knife. He could not help but be fond of her flighty nature.

"Well, don't feel too rushed about it," advised Harry, trying to sound as sincere as possible despite his uncertainty towards the idea of her cooking. "You might not have time to go get all those ingredients, with work and all..."

"I already bought them," announced Luna, causing Harry to choke on the last bit of his sausage links. "Are you alright?" She asked, looking concerned as he cleared his throat with a coughing fit. "Yeah, I'm fine, I just - uhh..." He breathed deeply, "you just, you know... you don't have to cook if you don't want to."

Harry swore the air left the room.

"Harry James Potter," she said, emphasizing every word, her face turning cold-stone. Harry felt childish under her offensive stare, blood rushing to his cheeks. "Don't you dare beat around the bush with me. I know I am not the best at cooking, but I truly wish you had a little more faith in me."

Sticking both hands in between his legs and looking guiltily down at his empty plate, Harry felt embarrassed. Who was he to tell Luna what she could do? After all, it was important to her, and if it was important to her then it was important to Harry.

"You're right," confessed Harry, gazing up at her.  
"You know what? If you wanna cook, then ... well, you should." He gave her a small smile and, like someone had flipped the switch, Luna returned it with a gleeful grin.

"Oh, Harry," she sang wistfully, jumping from her seat and pulling him into a hug he sat unprepared for.  
"You are truly sweeter than any plumberry blifler I've ever met." He didn't think to ask what exactly a plumberry blifler was, but he felt slightly comforted in the fact that she saw him sweeter than whatever it was.  
Twirling a piece of wayward hair up and out of her face, Luna stared off dreamily towards the ceiling. "The recipe appears to be particularly easy, so I doubt I will have much trouble. In fact, all you do is put all the ingredients in one big pot and let it cook for you! So simple. Mr. Weasley tells me that Muggles do it all the time in something called a "slow-cooker"... imagine that! Something that cooks your food all day long... I mean, I'm sure it probably gets sleepy at the end of the day, with all the work its doing and whatnot..." She suddenly looked crestfallen. "Oh, but Harry... what if the pots and pans get tired? I wouldn't want to exhaust them. That's sounds like such a cruel act of magic."

Harry chuckled, wiping off his mouth and hands with a napkin before standing up and walking over to her, kissing her on the cheek. "Luna, I'm sure whatever pot you use will be fine. Really, you think too much sometimes," he says gently, taking his wand from his back pocket and magicking their dirty dishes towards the sink to wash themselves.

"Yes, but that's why you like me, I think," she stated matter-of-factly.

He rolled his eyes.

"Well it certainly wasn't because of your cookin - _ow!_" Luna's dreamy expression never ceased as an apple mysterious threw itself at Harry's shoulder, bouncing off onto the floor. Harry scowled, rubbing his shoulder sorely. "Okay, alright, I deserved that one," he admitted with defeat. "Merlin, keep that up and soon I'll be calling you 'she-who-must-not-be-named'..."

Luna smiled. "Well, as long as I don't have to detach my nose. I rather like smelling things, you know."


	2. Part 2

I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE. I'm currently working on a H/L reclist and it's been taking up so much of my time! But has also helped a lot with getting this plot moving! Anyway, here's part 2 to my story. I changed some things I originally wanted to add, but I hope, hope, HOPE I did Drunk!Luna justice. Or just Luna justice in general. I tend to write in clumps when I get inspired so hopefully you guys enjoy!

Hope, love, and nargles.  
(P.S.: While I do look over my work, I tend to miss a lot of repeated pronouns and adjectives, so I apologize in advance.)

**Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING OKAY JEEZ**

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Later that night, Harry felt exhausted.

Training the new Auror's at the ministry had gone terrible and he was lucky he got home with his legs still attached and only a quarter inch of his hair singed off. It was like Dumbledore's Army, except somehow the adults seemed less teachable than the children did. Gretton Grailsbenburg stood to be the worst of the lot; when tested on his ability to aptly use a silencing charm, he ended up somehow blowing a massive hole in the ceiling and setting everyones robes on fire while simultaneously causing them to go temporarily deaf in both ears. Everyone had been forced to drink an Ear-Popping potion, which tasted of poblano peppers and caused steam to come out of your ears for the next two hours until you could hear perfectly again. Only side-effect was that sometimes the ends of your hair near your ears would begin to burn off. Thankfully, Harry's was the least worst in the group. Ned Applebee, a plump young man who reminded Harry of Neville back in their hogwarts years, ended up losing four inches of carefully grown hair. Harry was pretty certain he might have been reduced to tears, but he could hardly remember. He just wanted the day to be over, and called it a day far before their scheduled end.

He had begun to feel a bit better on his way home. He decided instead of taking the Floo Network he'd just ride his broom. After all, his father's invisibility cloak certainly shouldn't go to waste, and it was quite a beautiful night out. Sometimes he just liked the feeling of freedom. Though his reputation as The-Boy-Who-Lived finally begun to die down once people realized that there were many more witches and wizards that deserved the title of hero as much as he, there was a sense of letting go and let live that came into his life. Still, some days, he couldn't shake the person he knew he was and always would be. Flying through the air on his broom over London was one of the things that reminded Harry that he was no longer caged. It was one of the few things that made him feel completely free; the other being whenever he looked at his wife. A grin came over his face at the thought of her, waiting for him to come home while no doubt wearing one of her cute little aprons with oranges and watermelons on them. Sure, she probably burned their house down, but at least she'd look damn cute doing it, he thought.

He landed gracefully in front of their home, hopping off of his broom and slipping out of his invisibility cloak. Guiltily, he half expected to find their home caught on fire, a disarrayed Luna out front with specks of onion tangled in her hair.

"Luna...?" Harry called, stepping through the front door with caution, placing his broom and the invisibility cloak on a small coffee table in the hallway. He did not hear screaming or see smoke, so he figured things hadn't gone too bad. There was, however, a very loud noise coming from the kitchen. It took him a moment to realize it was Luna's voice, as her singing was usually quite nice and yet this time it was terribly out of key.

Becoming further perplexed by this, he stepped towards the kitchen, coming upon a sight so bizarre that Harry had to take off his glasses and check his lenses to make sure someone hadn't put some strange spell on it to somehow skew what he had just walked in on.

Luna was currently in the middle of the kitchen, dancing what seemed to be an awkward and clumsy version of the waltz around the kitchen while a large pot boiled furiously on the stove beside her. In one hand she held her wand loosely aloft, waving it carelessly around, magicking silverware and fruits to float about the kitchen aimlessly. In the other hand carried a particularly large wine glass, filled to the brim with a dark maroon liquid that sloshed up and over the rim of the cup with every movement she made. Her radish shaped apron had been pulled up from her waist to being tied around her chest, and her hair put up into a messy bun with assorted colored chopsticks sticking out from all ends around it. All the while she continued to hum tunelessly what Harry supposed was a song, but sounded more like an animals mating call.

Lost in her own world, Luna hadn't batted an eyelash at the presence of another being in the room, and merely continued to dance around the kitchen oblivious.

_Merlin's beard, _Harry thought, his mouth agape._ Is Luna drunk? _He knew he had no idea what was waiting for him after work but this was definitely nowhere near what he considered. Not only that, but Harry had never seen Luna drunk before. The closest she'd been to being inebriated was at their wedding when she got tipsy from drinking a spiced plumberry punch after being told by a certain Weasley that it definitely, absolutely, did not have any alcohol in it whatsoever, promise. That in itself proved to be quite a problem when Luna ended up cursing a fork to follow Dean Thomas around, poking him whenever he spoke because he informed Luna (after her third cup of punch) that he didn't believe in the Crumpled-Horned Snorkack, a statement that came to be a personal offense to his wife after her and her Father's longsuffering study of the creature. So, in the case of her being absolutely muddled, he was unsure of how to move next.

"Luna," Harry said, keeping his voice leveled as to not surprise her. But she was too busy trying to dip herself back without falling to notice him.

"Luna," He called, a little louder this time. No response.

"LUNA POTTER!" He finally shouted, his patience tested. He half expected her to scream or throw inanimate objects at him, but instead all she did was twirl on the tip of her toes and flip her head back, shooting him a lopsided smile, her usually wide protuberant eyes glazed over and twinkling mischievously.

"I'm cooking," she stated simply, giggling to herself afterwards as she set her wine glass tenderly on the table.

"I can see that," said Harry steadily. "Is there, err, a reason you're... doing that?" He nodded towards the silverware that was hovering around her.

"Ohhh," Luna breathed, staring at the objects as if just noticing now that they were there. "Of course not! Silly, I don't need them anymore!" And with that, her wand was lowered and all the silverware came crashing to the floor, alarming Harry who stepped back reflextively. Feeling a bit angry at this, he thought to ask her what in Merlin's name she had been doing.

"Luna -" he started, but his would-be stern questioning was cut off as her small frame suddenly charged towards him, slender arms wrapping around his waist, her face burrowing into his chest rapidly. Harry stood there dumbfoundedly, a look of pure confusion on his face as he hesitantly patted his wife on the back.

"Uh - are you okay...?" He asked, staring down but unable to see her face as it was hidden in his shirt.

"Harry, I missed you," she mumbled, looking up at him with a gaze so genuine it physically pained him. Harry felt a rush of warmth run over him from these words and wondered how he could ever think to be angry with Luna. That is, until her eyebrows furred together and she suddenly whacked him on the head with the back of her palm.

"I- what? What was that for?!" Harry shouted, fumbling back and rubbing his wound in frustration.

"Late!" She wagged her finger, tilting her head to the side. "You're late. And you smell like the sky, Harry Potter."

"What? I'm not late... what are you on about?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Oh, Harry, I think I love cows," she hummed, changing the subject as she swayed back and forth, walking towards the stove and looking over the rumbling pot. "It smells so good, don't you think?"

Harry blinked. The only thing he could smell was a mixture of wine and... grass? He sincerely hoped he was incorrect on the last one.

"Err, I don't know... Luna, how much wine have you had?"

Luna covered her mouth as she hiccuped, a very uncharacteristic impish smile hid underneath her palm as she twirled her finger towards the counter next to the pot where one empty bottle of Applegrape wine sat, a half drunk bottle of firewhiskey directly beside it.

"Who - how -..." Harry stammered, running his hand through his messy hair.

"Mrs. Weasley gave it to me," said Luna dreamily, still whirling her finger in circles towards the direction of the bottles. "At least, I think she did. I can hardly remember now. Oh, i've been terribly selfish though... Would you like some?" She offered, taking up her wine glass and thrusting it at him, spilling a portion of it on the floor in the process.

Harry shook his head quickly, making stopping movements with his hands.

"No... No, Luna. No. Why in Merlin's name do you have so much alcohol? And why did Mrs. Weasley give you that bottle?"

Luna seemed genuinely interested in remembering the answer to that question, tapping her chin with the rim of the glass, her eyes studying the ceiling with a rather serious look on her face.

"I don't remember... Or... Oh! Wait, yes, I do remember now..." She turned to Harry with a wide grin. "I lost the recipe for the Pork Thorax, you see-"

"Thorax?" Harry interrupted exasperatedly.

"Yes, Harry. Thorax. It's another word for Butt, which," she giggled, "I find absolutely ridiculous, I mean... Pork Butt? How rude. You know, if I was being cooked I wouldn't want to be called Luna Butt. It's very naughty and crude. Luna Thorax sounds much better... Actually, Harry, I rather like the word Thorax. Do you think we could name our son that?"

Harry could feel his cheeks flush.

"No!" He said, "no way, that's not-"

"Don't worry, I'm not pregnant," announced Luna quite soberly.

Harry feared his face had suddenly gone up in flames, a concern that was confirmed by Luna's sudden titter.

"Harry, you're the shade of my radish apron!"

"Merlin," he muttered, rubbing his eyes under his glasses in embarrassment. "Just... Luna, just... Just tell me what happened."

She giggled again, taking a copious sip of her wine.

"As I was saying," she hiccuped, "I lost the recipe for the Pork Thorax, or, Pork Butt if you prefer, just before I began cooking. So, of course, I was completely lost, and I didn't want to disappoint you, especially after you said I couldn't cook -"

"- I never said you couldn't -" Harry mumbled, but Luna continued to speak over him.

"Not that I don't appreciate your honesty, but I've been feeling particularly stubborn lately. Must be the dandelion tea. Anyways, so I went over to Mrs. Weasley's... wait, no," she stopped, her body swaying in place as she gazed up at the ceiling. "I went for a walk first. A nice walk by the lake. I was checking the perimeters for lesser fae's... they so do love you, Harry, but they are such a nuisance. Anywho, after that I went to Mrs. Weasley's to see if she had another copy of the recipe. She's so sweet, you know? She ended up giving me the original one with all her special notes on it. I was so-so-*hic*-flattered! And well, we talked for a bit and I told her all about how it's the season of Gnome is upon us and she should keep an eye out for any breaking into her house and stealing anything that's the color red… You can imagine why she should be concerned, her family is all sorts of shades."

Harry couldn't help but lend her a small smile at that.

"She asked me how we were doing, and of course, I told her about how you didn't think I was very good at cooking -"

His smile vanished and a stone the size of a country landed deep in his stomach as he thought of Mrs. Weasley's reaction to Harry being anything but a hundred percent supportive towards his wife. Instinctively, he looked towards the window to see if there was a silhouette of an owl, undoubtedly gripping a howler in between its beak, coming his way.

Immediate relief fell upon him when no such thing could be seen, yet during that time he somehow missed a crucial piece of information, as Luna had now gone off talking about werewolves, staring off distantly at the ceiling.

"- and I told her, to be quite frank, that she needs to start steeping mistletoe during this time of the month. Afterall, we all know the Royal Family has werewolf blood in them, and there's a full moon coming and -"

She blinked, a dazed look coming over her face as her body swayed dangerously. For a moment, Harry thought she might fall over, and without thinking about it he reached out to catch her, but she steadied herself and shot Harry an extremely worried look.

"Harry, I think you've been drinking too much," she said cheekily. "You can hardly stand straight."

Harry didn't bother to inform her he hadn't had a sip of alcohol since his arrival.

"What was I talking about again? Oh, yes, so, I told Mrs. Weasley you didn't think I could learn how to cook, and she said…" Suddenly, Luna inhaled deeply and tapped the top of her head with her wand. A shimmer of gold shot down her normally pale blond hair, turning it a bright, vibrant red. She pulled her hair out of its original bun and let it fly loosely everywhere, straggles and curls abound. Scrunching her face, she attempted, what Harry believed, to be both an excellent, and hilarious, impersonation of Mrs. Weasley.

"That Harry Potter!" Luna scowled, her normally dreamy tone replaced with Mrs. Weasley's shrill tone of voice she used when she scolded her children. "He should be thankful that you would take the time to learn! Why, if Arthur would make more time to learn how to cook and clean rather than play around with those daft muggle toys, I may actually not be too tired every night when we go to bed and he wants to be all willy-nilly with me-"

Harry began to laugh until the last part, in which case his face turned the same color of Luna's hair, and he felt a shudder go down his spine.

"Okay, maybe you don't need to quote every word exactly…"

Luna ignored him, not wanting to break character, her expression softening.

"Oh, but don't worry dear, you'll show him," she said, still doing an impressive job at Mrs. Weasley's voice. "This recipe is an absolute man-getter! I told Ginny so, and look where she is now - about to be on her second child, bless -*_hic_*! Not that you have anything to worry about, dear, I'm sure Harry is an excellent husband and isn't going anywhere. But truly, this will fix that head of his right up!" Luna then clumsily twisted on her heel, grabbing the bottle of firewhiskey. Stumbling slightly, she turn and shoved it in front of Harry, as though he was playing the part of Luna in this particular memory.

"And if that doesn't work, a few shots of firewhiskey does the taste buds wonders and the body good. Wouldn't hurt to have a bit of a shot yourself - after all, the key to cooking is being relaxed. Not that I think you have any trouble with that, dear. But just in case you get nervous. Also," she winked exaggeratedly at Harry. "A few cups of that Applegrape Wine that goes into the stew wouldn't hurt either. You know us woman, sometimes we need a little pampering! Now off you go," she shooed Harry with her hands. "You'll do just fine, dear!"

_This explains a lot_, thought Harry, staring at his wife, who looked annoyed and kept shooing Harry off. Apparently, he was too lost in thought to sense his cue to exit.

"Harry," she leaned in, covering her mouth and whispering to him (though it wasn't much of a whisper), "you're suppose to leave now. Or else I can't turn back to Luna, and you can't turn back to Harry, and Mrs. Weasley might be completely lost in time, you know.."

He was pretty sure at this point Luna forgot exactly what she was talking about, but he complied. She wasn't exactly sober at the moment, so he couldn't blame her. Walking out of the room, he waited a moment before he walked back in. Luna's hair was back to blonde (thank goodness, he thought), but remained loose rather than in a bun, her chopsticks now either on the floor or sticking oddly in the mats of her hair.

"Excellent job, Harry. You do a very good me," she complimented him, smiling lopsidedly.

Harry reverted back to the original subject.

"So, is that why you have all this alcohol, then?"

Luna's head bobbed loosely up and down.

"Yes, one bottle of wine for the recipe, you see, and then a bottle of firewhiskey. Usually I don't drink, Harry, but…"

"You were nervous," Harry concluded, immediately feeling guilty towards the big deal he made over her cooking him dinner earlier this morning. He mentally kicked himself for being such a git about it.

Surprisingly, Luna blushed. It was something she hardly did, and Harry nearly missed it since her normally pale face had already been flushed from the alcohol.

"A bit, yes," she admitted. "I didn't want to disappoint you."

Overcome with both compassion and remorse, Harry immediately wrapped his arms around Luna's small frame, completely encompassing her and squeezing her so hard she squeaked.

"Luna," he said, nuzzling her neck. "You couldn't ever do anything to disappoint me. Sometimes, people are just...not very good at things. Everyone has their faults. Hell, look at me," he moved his head back so he could face her, her protuberant eyes gazing at him intently. "Can't do a damn thing right. Even made my wife feel like she disappoints me, like a total git. Not like I'm much better at cooking, anyways."

Luna furred her eyebrows together.

"But Harry, you're very good at certain things! Like quidditch… and foot rubs. And you're particularly talented at scaring away the Tulymongers," she pointed out, as if this alone was the reason she had married him in the first place, though Harry swore she never mentioned Tulymongers before during their entire relationship.

"Although…" she bit her lower lip, holding in a giggle "You aren't very good at making bacon."

"What!?" Harry cried, "what do you mean I'm not good at making bacon?"

"It's… well, a bit crispy…" said Luna, trying to keep a smile from forming on her lips.

"Bacon's suppose to be crispy," replied Harry, aghast, finding her confession to be quite offensive.

"Crispy, yes, but not burnt, necessarily…" explained Luna sheepishly.

"Great, so now I'm a git who doesn't know how to cook bacon," Harry sighed. But Luna gave him a gentle chuckle, and hugged him tightly, her feet lifting off the floor.

"Yes, but you're my git who doesn't know how to cook bacon," she corrected him, a very un-Lunaish smug look on her face.

Still, Harry couldn't help but grin.

"And you're my wife who doesn't know how to cook, well…"

"Anything," Luna said in a sing-song voice, unusually cheerily. Harry simply shrugged and kissed her on the top of the nose.

"I love you, Luna." he told her, feeling the weight in his stomach lifting. However, the glazed, dreamy look in Luna's eyes as their eyes interlocked seemed to fade as she opened her mouth to respond, but then closed it, tight-lipped.

"Harry," she muttered, barely moving her lips. Harry looked down at her, perturbed.

"Something wrong?"

"I don't mean to alarm you, but I think I'm going to throw up now."

Unfortunately, Harry didn't have time to apparate them to the loo.

* * *

A few hours later, a very exhausted and pale Luna leaned on their old wooden bathtub, body sprawled out sideways in a very unflattering manner. Harry sat next to her, his back against the tub, legs crossed. His shirt, which would need several cleaning charms, lay crumpled up in the corner of the bathroom, along with Luna's juniper slippers.

"They should really come up with a spell to prevent vomiting," Harry sighed, running a hand through his unmanageable black hair.

"Oh, they have," Luna mumbled weakly, her eyes drooped and sleepy. "Although it's quite a lot of work, and you have to move your wrist just so…" She did a horrible job imitating it with her wrist, which was as limp as a noodle. "And then, you know, sometimes it doesn't even work, and you end up vomiting from your ears and nose."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

She gave a small nod.

"Yes, Daddy wrote an article all about it four summers ago, when Goosley Goobins, a horrid witch, tried to eliminate all wizards with blond hair by making them throw up to death."

"Can't trust anyone with a name like Goosley Goobins," joked Harry. This got a small laugh out of Luna, which made Harry considerably happier than he had been. He didn't exactly enjoy watching Luna spewing out her days meals down the toilet, especially when she specified each food ("And that's why I eat tangerines in pairs, Harry.") that left her stomach. Regardless, he wouldn't leave her there, considering this was mostly his doing anyway.

They sat there in silence for quite a while, Luna's steady breathing and Harry absentmindedly running his fingers through her hair every few minutes. It wasn't out of the ordinary for them to be like this, but it just seemed like a good time for quiet while Luna regained some of her strength.

"I feel a bit better, Harry, thank you," said Luna softly.

"I'd hope so. I still feel like a git," he sighed.

Luna waved her hand. "Don't beat yourself up over it, please. Besides, did you know, there's a rumor about that an ounce of firewhiskey a day keeps the wrackspurts away. This is an excellent time to test that theory."

Harry gave her a disbelieving look, but didn't fight her over it, seeing how excited she got at the idea of being able to prove the existence of wrackspurts, or possibly a deterrent for them.

"Well, don't go writing down any results yet. You probably need your rest, if anything."

"But you haven't eaten dinner yet," said Luna, a pinch of sadness in her voice.

"I will, I promise I'll try it," Harry said, reassuring her. "After I've gotten you in bed, of course."

Luna said nothing in response to that, but appeared significantly heartened by his words. Without any more conversation, Harry stood, brushing off his pants, before leaning down and picking up Luna without struggle. Carrying her out of the bathroom and towards the bedroom, he soon had her tucked into bed, snugly fit under the covers. He made sure to check that her dream catcher was still facing towards the window (she wouldn't sleep otherwise), and also laid a small, cold washcloth upon her forehead.

"Thank you, Harry," she smiled up at him. He returned the smile, letting his thumb glide gently across her cheek.

"Least I can do. Do you need anything else?"

"Tea, please," she requested. "White peach, preferably."

Harry nodded, giving her hand laying atop the covers a quick squeeze.

"Alright, I'll be right back up with some. You just stay tight, alright?"

On his way out, he heard Luna call for him.

"Harry?"

He looked back at her, hand on the doorknob.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think I'm loony?" asked Luna.

Harry simply gave her a warm expression before heading out the door.

* * *

After making his way downstairs, Harry ruffled his hair, feeling extremely sleepy. It wasn't until he reached the bottom step and took a look around the room, checking the protective charms for the house, that he felt his stomach rumble unpleasantly. He hadn't eaten anything since lunch time, and didn't expect to be caring for a drunk Luna that night. Still, it wasn't that important. He could always grab some fruit or - well, he did promise Luna he'd try her stew.

Stepping into the kitchen and the entire mess on the floor, he scratched his head. Broken glass, silverware, puddles of wine and chopsticks littered the room, while the pot still simmered on the stove. While the tea steeped in its cup, Harry made quick work of the clutter, and in a few minutes everything was cleaned up. Removing the tea bag from its cup, Harry peered over at the stew.

_Might as well,_ he thought, his stomach groaning.

Grabbing the ladle sitting by the pot, he stirred the stew around a bit before pulling the ladle up and blowing on the hot food to cool it down. Hesitant, he stared at it. He wasn't sure what exactly kind of stew this was, but it had a pork's butt involved and possibly wine. Shrugging his shoulders, he decided to take the leap.

One sip later, he found himself in a coughing fit over the stove.

Whatever Luna had put in that stew, one of the ingredients definitely had to be grass, and possibly dirt. It was a distinct flavor that he had only experienced face-down on the ground during a quidditch match, or during pretty much any Herbology class.

Trying to get the taste out of his mouth, he went to get himself a glass of water, but got distracted by the piece of parchment left on the counter next to the sink. Written on the very top in bold ink was: Pork Butt Stew. A list of ingredients and notations, as well as directions, hand-written underneath.

This must be Mrs. Weasley's recipe, Harry thought, examining it. He couldn't help but notice that Mrs. Weasley wrote down specifically that before starting to cook, one should drink _at leas_t two glasses of Applegrape Wine. _Luna must have taken these to heart,_ he smirked. None of the ingredients seemed to be bad, until Harry got down to the part where it instructed to add two tablespoons worth of Thyme.

_Oh, Merlin_, Harry couldn't contain his laughter. Luna abhorred the taste of thyme with a passion, saying it was the "herb of the deatheaters" and therefore was untrustworthy. Where the instructions about the thyme were placed, right next to it, in fresh ink, was a small star, and on the side a special notation that Harry didn't think was from Mrs. Weasley at all.

"_DO NOT ADD THYME. It will make you sneeze and also smells like stinky goblin shoes. The deatheaters would force it under the nose of unsuspecting victims to distract them before hexing them into oblivion. Cows are fond of grass, however. Perhaps that would be better?"_

Harry shook his head, chuckling to himself, thinking back to what Luna had asked earlier.

"_Harry, do you think I'm loony?"_

A wide grin on his face, and an overwhelming happiness in his heart, he could only think to himself the clear cut answer as he began his journey upstairs, White Peach tea in hand.

_Yes Luna, you are absolutely, one hundred percent loony. But I wouldn't dream of having you any other way._


End file.
